


The Kitten Kerfuffle

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Misses [11]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Ossie and Ricky have their own tags! I’m gonna have to go back and tag them in my other works now ❤️For die_Frau and hobbeshalftail3469 and anyone else who suggested Kittens for K :)





	The Kitten Kerfuffle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [die_Frau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_Frau/gifts), [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts).



> Ossie and Ricky have their own tags! I’m gonna have to go back and tag them in my other works now ❤️
> 
> For die_Frau and hobbeshalftail3469 and anyone else who suggested Kittens for K :)

Nick shouldered his front door closed and headed for the kitchen, dropping the car keys in the bowl on the counter and setting the bag he was carrying down next to it. “Food’s here!”

Ilsa smiled and leaned across the counter to give him a quick kiss. “Oven’s warm, I’ll just pop it in for a few minutes,” she said. “Corm’s outside having a ciggie, and Robin is...” She trailed off, listening, then pointed to the ceiling. Nick could hear the scamper of little paws and running feet upstairs. “Robin is playing with the kittens.”

Nick grinned. Robin had fallen in love with Ossie and Ricky while she was staying with the Herberts, and often brought them a small gift when she came for curry night. Tonight it was a little plastic ball with a bell in it. They could hear the faint tinkle as it rolled around the spare room floor above their heads.

The patio door slid open and Strike stepped back into the warmth of the kitchen, beer in hand. He grinned at his old friends. “I take it if Nick is back then the food’s here? I’m starving.”

Ilsa smiled indulgently. “When are you not?” she asked fondly.

There was a series of tinkling thuds and a scurry of paws, and the ball and two excited kittens arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The ball bounced on the wooden hall floor and ricocheted off the wall, and the kittens, scrabbling for purchase on the shiny surface, scampered after it across the kitchen. A moment later Robin appeared, pink-cheeked and grinning, strands of hair falling across her face.

Strike’s heart lurched at the sight of her, as it always did, but something about her glow, her pink cheeks, her slight breathlessness, her unruly hair, made his libido want to get involved too. He hurriedly dragged his eyes from her and turned his attention back to the cartons Ilsa was still sliding into the oven. “Ilsa, why are you putting the food away?”

Ilsa glanced round. “Oh, well, if we’re all here, I guess we could eat,” she said, and started taking the cartons out again.

The four friends crowded around the dining table, chatting and passing containers back and forth. Affronted at losing the focus of her attention, the kittens tackled Robin round the ankles and pounced on the laces of her trainers. She giggled and shooed them away gently. Strike smiled softly to himself. She was so at home here in his old friends’ house. It was lovely to see. His gaze lingered on her as she crouched to unhook one of Ricky’s claws from her shoelace, and he missed the way Ilsa nudged Nick and nodded in his direction, and the sly smile the Herberts shared.

They chatted happily over the meal. Strike and Robin filled their friends in on their latest cases, and Nick told hilarious stories from football practice. A rival hospital’s staff had challenged his hospital to a football match, to be played in the summer, and so a team had been selected. But practice wasn’t going well.

“It’s hopeless,” Nick said. “Trying to get eleven members of staff, plus subs, all free at the same time to practise. I don’t know when they think we’re going to be able to actually play this match. At least the nurses and porters have slightly more set hours, though it’s still all unsocial shifts. There were five of us last night, that’s not enough people even for a kickabout really.”

“What’s at stake?” Strike asked around a mouthful of naan.

“Just pride and honour. And the losers have to buy the first round in the pub after. You guys going to come and watch?”

Ilsa nodded. “Of course!” she said. “Robin? We could get supporters’ T-shirts printed and wave football rattles.”

“God,” Strike muttered darkly, and Robin giggled. “I’m in!”

The conversation moved on, and soon the food was finished. Strike stretched and leaned back in his chair, full and relaxed, and sighed happily. Good friends, good food, good beer, good company. His hand went automatically to his pocket for his cigarettes.

Ilsa grinned at him. “You go on out,” she said. “Nick, grab those dishes.” The Herberts stood to clear the table, and Robin got up to help as Strike moved towards the patio doors again.

“Oh, er, Robin, could you, er...” Ilsa glanced around. “Could you see if the cats are outside? It’s nearly their supper time.”

Robin nodded. “Sure.” She followed Strike out onto the patio.

Nick snorted. “That was subtle,” he teased, grinning, and Ilsa giggled.

“They need a push. It might work.” She shrugged and gathered up a pile of cartons to rinse out in the sink. Smiling fondly, Nick followed with the plates.

Strike had moved away down the garden a little way, drawing deeply on his cigarette. _A cigarette after a good meal is one of life’s little pleasures,_ he thought, and then jumped a little as Robin spoke behind him, calling softly to the cats who were nowhere to be seen.

She smiled at him as he turned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Strike shook his head. “Just surprised, that’s all. Didn’t realise you’d followed me out.”

“Ilsa asked me to come and look for the cats.”

Strike suppressed a snort. His old friend was becoming really quite blatant in her efforts to push Robin into his path. _Like I hadn’t already noticed for myself how utterly gorgeous she is,_ he thought despairingly. Even in a casual jumper, jeans and trainers, she was captivating. The feelings he’d hoped might fade only seemed to be getting stronger.

“I’ve not seen them,” he replied, taking another pull on his cigarette.

Robin drifted across to stand next to him, still looking vaguely around for the cats. “Lovely evening,” she said.

“Yeah, really starting to feel like spring,” Strike replied.

“No, I meant tonight. Food and friendship. I really enjoy our curry nights.”

He smiled softly down at her. “Me too.” He took a last drag of his cigarette and dropped it onto the patio next to the others. Ilsa kept a jam jar for the butts somewhere, he’d scoop them up at the end of the night.

He turned back and Robin was stood right there, looking at him. Her gaze was inscrutable in the dim light, but her posture was relaxed, her grey-blue eyes calm as she regarded him steadily. Yet something made Strike’s heart rate increase suddenly. She didn’t often look him directly in the eye and hold his gaze. Somehow lately such looks had become charged between them, and he was dimly aware they’d both started to avoid them.

She wasn’t avoiding it tonight.

 _Is this it?_ he found himself suddenly wondering. _Is this the moment? Is this going to turn into a kiss?_ Instead of his normal calm confidence in such a situation unfolding, he felt a small stab of panic. Had his curry contained too much garlic? Would she mind the taste of smoke? Why did she look so calm when his heart was skipping all over the place? Should he make a move, lean in?

Even as the thoughts tangled around themselves in his head, freezing out any possibility of taking action, Robin suddenly squeaked and jumped, half swinging around. Unseen behind them, Ricky had taken a running jump at her from the patio and landed on the back of her leg, and was now trying to claw his way up her body, sharp little claws hooked into the back of her jumper. Robin squealed again and giggled, trying to get her arms behind herself to stop him falling, half bent over. She laughed up at Strike, her eyes twinkling. “I guess I found the cats! Or one of them, at least. Is it Ricky? He’s tried to climb me before.”

Strike nodded dumbly, his heart in his mouth still. The moment broken, he found himself wondering if it had even happened, if his fevered brain had imagined the whole thing in his combination of a mellow mood of relaxation and a sudden perceived window of opportunity.

Robin turned back towards the house, still bent over, Ricky clinging to her back. “I’ll get this little rascal indoors,” she called over her shoulder. “I think Ossie must already be in there.”

Strike swallowed hard. “Yeah.” His voice was hardly shaking at all. He took a deep, steadying breath and followed her back inside.

 


End file.
